


Bite the Bullet

by ros3bud009



Category: Transformers - All Media Types, Transformers Generation One
Genre: Alt-Mode Sexual Interfacing, But he starts it and is into it, Gun Kink, Gunplay, M/M, Slightly dubious consent since Megatron is a prisoner in this situation, Sticky Sexual Interfacing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-29
Updated: 2017-04-29
Packaged: 2018-10-25 10:08:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,073
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10762080
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ros3bud009/pseuds/ros3bud009
Summary: “So you’re that type of mech, hm?”Cliffjumper’s frown deepened and he barely turned his helm to glare over his shoulder.However, he quickly found it was difficult to know where to point his glare when the enemy was stuck in his alt-mode. If he was a car it would be easy, and Cliffjumper had some idea of where to look at a flight-mode. He wasn’t dumb.But it was a harder call when the leader of the Decepticons was a gun.Basically silly G1 fun meets gunfucking.





	Bite the Bullet

“So you’re that type of mech, hm?”

Cliffjumper’s frown deepened and he barely turned his helm to glare over his shoulder.

However, he quickly found it was difficult to know where to point his glare when the enemy was stuck in his alt-mode. If he was a car it would be easy, and Cliffjumper had some idea of where to look at a flight-mode. He wasn’t dumb.

But it was a harder call when the leader of the Decepticons was a gun.

The muzzle maybe? But it was turned away from him since Megatron was laid out on the prison berth parallel to the cell barrier. The scope would have been his next guess, but it was also aimed at the wall. All Cliffjumper could see was the butt of the gun and the trigger and all along the bottom edge of the barrel.

Slag though, Cliffjumper almost didn’t mind since it gave him the excuse to drag his optics along the full length of the gun.

No, not gun. Not _just_ a gun.

Megatron.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

The minibot kept expecting the gun to move, to at least twitch or roll, anything. He couldn’t fully comprehend the fact that anyone could have an alt-mode that completely lacked mobility.

But Megatron just continued to lay there in the exact same spot as when Optimus placed him there the day before.

“I should think it’s obvious, Autobot,” Megatron replied, his tone amused. Cliffjumper’s hands fisted at his sides and his frown tightened.

“And what’s _that_ supposed to mean?!”

Megatron’s laugh grated on his audials.

“You like my form, don’t you?”

His spark felt as if it had stopped cold in his chest. Cliffjumper gaped at the Decepticon before squaring his shoulders and pinching his lips tight. His head turned away sharply to look at the wall.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about, so can it, rust bucket.”

“I think you do.”

“I said can it!”

“Your friend wasn’t subtle,” Megatron continued, unperturbed, and Cliffjumper felt his face heat up. No, he supposed Bumblebee’s “ _Behave_ ” with a wink when they had switched off was pretty obvious. It wasn’t exactly something he was shy about admitting to normally – they all had their kinks, some so specific that his seemed mild in comparison – but Cliffjumper wished now he had kept his big mouth shut.

He was gonna get Bumblebee back after this. Maybe a good right hook to the noggin—

“You want to frag me, don’t you, little Autobot?”

Shame sparked across Cliffjumper’s circuits as he felt his array warm and his interface protocols online in a hurry.

“Sh-shut up!”

“You do,” Megatron said _,_ dragging the last vowel out mockingly. Cliffjumper’s engine growled, even as his face burned. “No need to be ashamed. You’re hardly the first, and you won’t be the last. I _am_ well constructed after all, and you will not find a more destructive weapon to hold in your hands.”

Cliffjumper gritted his dentae. He shouldn’t rise to the bait, he _knew_ that, but he hated the feeling of unspoken words on his glossa.

“So you’re a nice gun. So what? What would I want with you anyway?” Cliffjumper spat out.

The gun _hummed_ with obvious delight.

“Oh, I’m sure you’re well aware. It’s quite something to hold such power in your hands, to _touch_ and perhaps to even _taste_ that strength, isn’t it?” Cliffjumper’s fingers twitched and his mouth watered and his spark pulsed quickly in his chest. “And I know you’ll agree that to have destruction at your fingertips and taunt fate with it pressed to your frame can bring about a rush like none other.” His plating shifted and, slowly, spread out so that the growing heat could leak out without needing to turn on his cooling fans. “And while you may be small, Autobot, you won’t have any trouble taking my barrel inside you, will you?”

With the clamping together of his thighs, Cliffjumper’s valve throbbed behind his panel.

Frag.

“I’m not stupid, and I’m sure as slag not suicidal, so why don’t you--”

“But you _are_ interested.”

Cliffjumper turned on his heel to glower at the Megatron again, his arms crossed over his chest. “Not in having you blow me up from the inside out!”

The gun cackled and Cliffjumper’s plating flared irritably.

“Is that all that holds you back? Then rest easy,” Megatron insisted casually. “In this form, while I am much more powerful, I am otherwise in most every other way the same as any other gun. And I assume you know how to safely indulge yourself, hm?”

Cliffjumper ground his dentae until he could swear he tasted sparks on his glossa. It didn’t help to fight the burning heat flooding his face or to ignore the distinct sensation of lubricant slicking his valve.

“You honestly think I’ll believe you can’t pull your own trigger?”

Primus, it was so weird to have this conversation when Megatron didn’t move at all. His voice was all that Cliffjumper had to go off of.

_Did_ that immobility really go that far?

“Why else do you think I would let my lieutenants have the pleasure?”

A shiver raced down Cliffjumper’s spine at the thought of that very pleasure, to squeeze that trigger and feel that recoil for himself, because it – _he –_ had to have a nasty kick. _Frag_ , he would give anything to feel that for himself.

“And—and what do you get out of this?”

“Relief from the processor-rusting boredom of not only being a prisoner, but unable to move at that,” Megatron explained as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. However, his voice took on something too much like a purr when he continued, “And it’s not every day I find such an appreciative audience. I would very much enjoy having an adorable little Autobot like yourself lapping at my muzzle.”

If Cliffjumper didn’t know better, he’d think his face was melting off from how boiling hot it felt.

His hands were clenched so tight he was scrapping paint off his palms.

“Better yet would be the desperate clenching of your valve as you come undone around my barrel.”

Cliffjumper managed to keep the whine from escaping his vocalizer.

However, he lost the battle with his interface array as his panel opened with an audible _shlick_.

“Shut up!” he spat when Megatron began to snicker, and despite himself, Cliffjumper reached up to offline the cell barrier.

* * *

 

Compared with the rest of the hefty weapon, Megatron’s stock seemed nearly delicate. Thin and round and long, the only interruption to its sleekness was the lip where one half could slide into the other to collapse the stock.

And that lip caught on Cliffjumper’s anterior node as he rocked his hips along the slick length, trapping the stock between his valve lips to rub himself against. A grunt escaped his open mouth and his hold on the grip tightened.

“Sensitive, aren’t you?”

“And you never shut up, do you?!” Cliffjumper complained as he pressed the stock harder against himself. Finding a position had been awkward, but finally the Autobot had settled for straddling the stock and leaning over the rest of the gun so the muzzle faced away from him. One hand braced against the berth while the other was wrapped around the grip of the gun, fingers stroking and squeezing the unyielding metal as best he could while holding the rest of the gun to his frame, slowly warming it with how hot his frame was in comparison.

Another roll of his hips had Cliffjumper’s node catching on the stock’s lip again and he groaned as he repeated the motion yet again.

“Yet you persist. Am I that that irresistible, Autobot?”

Cliffjumper hated how the taunting only had his hips bucking harder.

“Arrogant glitch!”

But there was no denying the fact that Cliffjumper couldn’t take his optics off the length of the gun. The weight of Megatron in his hand grounded him while the beautifully maintained chrome caught and held his attention as it glittered and shimmered with his every movement. His forefinger stroked the trigger guard longingly while he leaned further forward, following the lines of the barrel as he got close enough that it wouldn’t take any effort at all to close his lips around the side of the long cylinder.

His hot ex-vent fogged the sleek metal.

Cliffjumper licked his lips before gritting his teeth.

“Go on then. Why not take a little taste?”

As much as the minibot wanted to argue, the fact was he wanted that taste _badly._ Cliffjumper told himself that surely just one lick wouldn’t be so bad. Just along the side, nothing dangerous, just a taste.

One small stroke with the tip of his glossa though only made the cloying hunger in Cliffjumper’s spark worse, made the chasm of need that much deeper, and a whine was out of his mouth before he could stop it. Megatron tasted like cleaner and ions and smoke, and Cliffjumper opened his mouth wide to flatten his whole glossa around the curve of the barrel, dragging along the completely unmarred surface, letting his senses be consumed by the heady taste. It only strengthened the closer his glossa lapped towards the muzzle.

“Take what you want.”

Impulse beat out self-preservation. Cliffjumper had to tilt his chassis, letting his forehelm rest on the berth and his hips tilt up so that he could shift the angle of the gun. Within a few moments he managed to get it just right so the stock was still pressed hard against his valve but the muzzle was aimed right at his face.

And that managed to give him pause for a second as the realization of just how _stupid_ this whole thing was hit him.

Unfortunately, it also set his face aflame and lubricant dripped freely along the stock.

Cliffjumper opened his mouth and shifted the gun -- Megatron -- until the muzzle was between his lips and his glossa could plunge into the interior of the barrel.

The taste was caustic and burned his glossa and his proccessor swam in the overwhelming rush of arousal.

His hips jerked down hard on the stock captured between his valve lips, his anterior node finding the stock’s lip again to grind back and forth across, and his calipers clenched on nothing as overload took Cliffjumper by surprise. Cliffjumper clamped his thighs together as a moaned curse tumbled out of his mouth, muffled around Megatron’s barrel.

“What a good little Autobot,” Megatron purred from between Cliffjumper’s legs, and the minibot hated how it prompted another throbbing wave of pleasure through his array.

Cliffjumper was quick to lift his helm up and away and spit out a “Frag you” as he pushed up onto his knees. Megatron’s barrel had lines of his oral fluid streaked across it, his hammer and scope had splatters of transfluid across them, and his stock was absolutely soaked, drips of lubricant falling from the length to pool on the berth.  Cliffjumper’s frame shuddered at the mess he had left all over the gorgeous gun and the burning taste of danger on his glossa. A low simmering heat reignited in his array before it could even fully cycle down from the overload.

“I’d much rather frag you.”

Cliffjumper licked his lips and his calipers cycled opened in preparation for what it already knew he would let it have.

Megatron had been aimed right at his helm and hadn’t pulled his trigger.

Maybe _couldn’t._

"Fine. Why the frag not?"

* * *

It was on his back, servo around Megatron's barrel as he pressed the muzzle in past the soaked rim of his valve, staring down at the Decepticon's gorgeous alt-mode as he pierced himself on it, that Cliffjumper finally noticed the way the scope glinted at him. It was slight, easy to miss.

"Can you see outta that thing?"

"Perhaps," Megatron answered, his tone amused as it had been the whole time, but there was something deeper to it now, gravelly in a way that put even his usual voice to shame. "Would that stop you?"

The edge of the muzzle grated along Cliffjumper's valve walls as he pulled it deeper, just on the edge of pain, and it pulled a moan from his lips.

"If your talking didn't, then I dunno why you think that would."

Megatron chuckled and the scope lens flickered again.

That was one question answered at least.

Not that it mattered really. Not when Cliffjumper had the long, unyielding length of Megatron's barrel pushing in, bit by bit, stretching him so gloriously.

Once Cliffjumper had as much of it as he dared press into his frame, he carefully pulled and pushed the gun, slowly thrusting it into himself.

"F-frag--hah!"

"Is that really all you can take, Autobot?"

Cliffjumper grit his dentae and offlined his optics, wondering if he couldn't just ignore Megatron as he took his pleasure. But only a few seconds passed before he gazed down the length of his body again, watched the way the Megatron’s barrel disappeared past his stretched rim. The most powerful gun Cliffjumper had ever held in his hands, and his throbbing valve was enveloping it in wet heat. Each time he dragged it out, the way his lubricant shone on the black metal was too gorgeous to not watch glitter.

"Come now. Let me fill you completely.”

Cliffjumper’s hips jerked and his hands pushed before he could even think to argue.

Inner calipers gave way and Cliffjumper threw his head back with a shout as the muzzle kissed the very back of his valve. His outer most calipers cycled down as the edge of the muzzle was engulfed, settling snuggly around the thinner barrel and holding the entirety of the muzzle inside his frame.

Keeping Megatron trapped in his fluttering valve as Cliffjumper overloaded around him.

Cliffjumper arched his back as he whimpered, defenseless against the raw pleasure assaulting his sensornet as he shuddered.

“Mmm. Very nice.”

“Get melted,” Cliffjumper muttered breathlessly, internally embarrassed by how little fight was actually in his voice. In fact, he sounded well fragged, static hissing around the edges. It was with trembling hands that Cliffjumper carefully pulled the gun from his abused valve, pausing when aftershocks would have him clenching around the muzzle again.

Once free, Cliffjumper set Megatron down on the berth next to him, parallel to his frame, and then offlined his optics to give himself a moment to come down from the charged high. His valve felt empty but satiated.

“You made such a spectacular spectacle that I suppose you deserve something as a reward, don’t you agree?”

Cliffjumper onlined one optic and turned his head to glower at Megatron.

“I got what I wanted.”

“True. But I imagine that this will only _sweeten_ the memory.”

Before Cliffjumper could think of anything to say to that, Megatron’s alt-form started to hum in a way that had nothing to do with a vocalizer. Cliffjumpers sensory systems were blinded by bright light and a deafening blast. The shock was enough to have his frame moving instantly, jumping and pushing himself off the berth to roll onto the floor with a yelp.

When Cliffjumper managed to reboot his optics and online them, it was to see the gun falling from where it had slammed against the wall from recoil, clattering to the floor.

And when Megatron’s form finally settled, it was with the muzzle nearly aimed at Cliffjumper.

The minibot stared, mouth agape, legs splayed open and frozen in place while his spark thundered in his chest.

“You—you—!”

“I never actually said I couldn’t pull my own trigger,” Megatron supplied, his tone smug, clearly pleased with himself.

And, despite himself – despite the spark-chilling realization that he had placed his life at Megatron’s mercy for an _overload_ – Cliffjumper’s frame shuddered and his valve throbbed.

That damned scope flickered again, watching him.

Frag. Frag, frag, _frag_.

“You really are a fragged up little Autobot, aren’t you?”

Megatron was teasing him, and worst still, it nearly sounded like praise as well.

Cliffjumper’s face _burned_ and outrage flooded his systems.

With an audible _snap_ his panels closed and Cliffjumper scrambled to his feet, his engine growling threateningly.

“I outta throw you in a smelter myself, you no good slag-sucking decepti-creep!”

Megatron cackled as Cliffjumper berated him, occasionally slipping into genuine laughter when Cliffjumper demanded he stop laughing because he was being serious, slaggit!

Worst still was that Cliffjumper couldn’t just leave. He was the guard on duty, so he couldn’t leave Megatron alone down here, and he definitely couldn’t leave all of the sticky evidence of his activities with the Decepticon prisoner behind for anyone to find. Cliffjumper was pretty sure he would rather take a bullet to the processor than have to face Optimus if his leader knew what he had done.

Cliffjumper was stuck with the mouthy Decepticon for the rest of his shift.

So if he got a little enjoyment out of thoroughly cleaning Megatron’s gun form from his muzzle down to the end of his stock while cursing him out, well, Cliffjumper deserved something for his trouble.

* * *

“Soundwave.”

His lieutenant didn’t so much as look at him, busy with decrypting the code that held Megatron trapped in his alt-form. There was no doubt in Megatron’s processor though that he was listening. If ever there was a mech capable of multitasking efficiently, it was Soundwave.

After all, he had managed to keep Starscream distracted while sending Ravage to slip into the Autobot base, rescuing Megatron before the Autobots could even come to a consensus on what to do with their prisoner.

“What’s the name of that red minibot?”

This time Soundwave’s head did swivel to face Megatron’s scope.

“Cassette’s designation is--”

“No, no, not Rumble.” Megatron paused for a moment when Soundwave continued to stare at him. “Or whichever one painted himself red this week. I mean an Autobot.”

Soundwave’s head tilted.

“Three Aubobot minibots feature red paint.”

“The one with horns then.”

“Two Autobot minibots fit that description.”

Megatron growled. “The trigger happy one then!”

Soundwave’s head straightened as he nodded and said, “Minibot’s designation is Cliffjumper.”

“Cliffjumper, hm? A fitting name.” Megatron watched as Soundwave returned his full focus on the code that would soon free him again.

He couldn’t help a quiet chuckle to himself.

A fitting name indeed, and one Megatron would be sure to remember.


End file.
